Educational Hazard
by fabulous sun
Summary: Even when he's supposed to be somewhere else, Link is in for a strange training lesson with an even stranger master of swordsmanship. Ghirahim doesn't care for the Knight Academy, but for his views of education - and a red string of something. - Implies GhiraLink


**Educational Hazard**

_A/N: Written and translated for a writing challenge about the topic ‚education'. And then influenced by the wonderful tale of Ghirahim's Sex Ed by Laureen Lycan and given the final push by the fandubs on Youtube. After so much AU, I relished writing in the original universe very much._

/

"You call yourself a knight?!"

The voice lashed like a whip over the training grounds, followed by the steely gnashing of blades and increasingly heavy breaths. Still, the clattering rained mercilessly.

"Where's your defense – so slow, you could write me a formal letter containing your moves! There, Prime, Seconde, Tierce – that's no Tierce, do you want me to chop off your wrist?! Hopeless. Next one."

With fluent grace, a black saber whirled around to point at one of the training-gear-clad students standing in a circle around with faces saying that they'd be much rather be anywhere else now.

It had seemed like a formidable change in the training module when Gaepora had revealed to them that they would be given the fantastic chance of learning foreign sword techniques and improving their own style with that addition. Being eager students of the Knight Academy, none of them had shied away from the idea of hard work in exchange for entirely different insights into the art of fencing.

Unfortunately, no one had mentioned that the gate to such wonders was a truly cruel teacher.

Pipit, usually a very capable duelist even without a shield, gathered his practice sword that had been knocked from his hand as if he hadn't really been holding it. It was impossible to tell whether he blushed because his face was red with exhaustion anyway.

The tall man with the savage black saber sneered at him. The hilt seemed to melt into his black glove, only to be cut off by silky white cloth covering his body and his dusty grey skin. His hair was smooth and silvery-white, his face fine and dominated by sharp eyes underlined with violet. His eyes were, however, the only seemingly normal thing about him, dark brown as molasses and shaped like apricots.

What Link had learned to see until now was a never-tiring instrument of battle, a bundle of incredible speed and aptness and limbs that couldn't seem to bruise. It was like Ghirahim had been born solely for the purpose of being infrangible.

Slapping his saber as casually against his palm as if he handled a dull butter knife, Ghirahim let his brown eyes sweep over the assembled students, smiling slightly. His lips were white as foam. "Let's see if we can find a younger, more agile opponent, shall we, my dears?"

Zelda liked to muse how Ghirahim was actually a prince who had fallen out of favor or at least a rakish nobleman in his home country, because both his word choice and his manners could be dignified when he chose so. Link felt his mouth go dry as he felt the lustrous brown eyes graze him, finding no comfort in his friend's theories; after all, since Ghirahim invariably refused having female students, Zelda didn't have to face him in training.

"You, the blond one." Ghirahim smirked slightly. "I seem to have forgotten your name, Sky Child. Come here."

Even Groose was quiet as Link took a tentative step, returning Ghirahim's gaze firmly although his heart raced. It wasn't even for the fact that all the others were watching and Zelda, who he had promised to meet after the lesson, would turn up here soon because Ghirahim wasn't particularly interested in maintaining the time frame of the Academy. No, it was the strange thrill of facing an enemy, an opponent who offered no security that he, for whatever reason, would not hurt Link.

"Your name, doting one", Ghirahim sweetly reminded him. A few students dared to giggle, and Link gripped the hilt of his practice sword harder.

"Link."

The name didn't even seem to reach Ghirahim's pointed right ear, even though Link's voice was steady and clear.

"Which one is your supporting leg, boy?"

Since Link had already taken stance, it was a superfluous question. Being right-handed, he placed his weight on his left leg and kept the right one tense and ready to move.

Ghirahim merely glanced down before a vicious kick all but ripped Link's left leg off the ground, crashing his body onto his stomach on the dirty training ground. Link was barely quick enough to react to grab his sword tight and turn it away from himself so he didn't cause himself any injuries. For a second, he couldn't feel his left shin, and he drew a yelping breath.

More laughter as Ghirahim regarded him with a taunting smile. "Admirable work of defense. Now get up."

Karane liked to suggest that on occasions like this, it was best to kick a man where it truly hurt. Whereupon Fledge had carefully doubted that Ghirahim, who never wore protective garments, would even be vulnerable there at all, or if his reproductive organs were in fact indestructible as well.

Link came to his feet without a disgracing limping and raised his sword again, willing the stiffness of shock from the fall out of his muscles. His body ached, and his heart hammered as he tried to calculate Ghirahim's unpredictable pattern of movement.

"Try hard now, little Sky Child." Ghirahim tilted his head, the imprint of a black diamond on his cheek flashing for a second. "Riposte."

Link barely managed to dodge the hit, but Ghirahim regained his stance far too quickly to counterattack, arrogant smile always in place. "Riposte, I said!", he snapped, whirling his saber around so it hissed in the air like a deadly black snake. "Education, you hatchlings, that's what this is – a very vivid thing, a red string of fate." With a sudden thrust, he slashed at Link, who brought up his sword in defense. The blades bit into each other, metal screeched as the pressure climbed higher. Link already felt his wrist hurting, and his arm rapidly grew weary as he doggedly withstood backing away. Ghirahim wasn't even panting, his face calm and bright with malicious joy. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, as if he could taste Link's exhaustion in the air.

"I educate you so you spin this thread to your next battle, where you educate your enemy… to die."

Ghirahim's arm shot forward, his hand gripped Link's blade as if to scorn the sharpness that could – and should – have cost him the sinews of his fingers. A few students gasped, others went ashy pale. But while the glove tore easily, no blood came dripping down the blade.

Ghirahim wrenched the sword from Link's grip, who had instinctively loosened his hold to keep damage from the hand. Dropping it like a wooden stick, Ghirahim smirked and tapped the tip of his saber lightly against Link's breastbone. "Though at this end of the sword, consider your thread cut, Sky Child. Lesson closed."

Link could almost feel the tension evaporate into the air as his comrades gathered their discarded shields and began to head off, glad to have escaped the risk of being shown up by a man who seemed to disdain the very concept of indulgence. But everyone mumbled polite goodbyes – Ghirahim could get rather picky with courtesy.

Link took a second before he too budged, picking up his practice sword and his shield. He could feel Ghirahim's stare like a weak shock of electricity and tried his best to conceal that his wrist was still numb and his fingers shook. It was just the thing that no matter what a horrible teacher Ghirahim made, his skill piqued ambition – and the students at Skyloft Knight Academy had always prided themselves to spare no efforts at becoming exceedingly brilliant graduates.

Link suspected that this, if anything, merely amused Ghirahim and made his lack of mercy all the more blatant.

As he straightened again, it was not the teacher who watched him – it was Zelda. "Finally calling it a day?" Smiling, she handed him a wet cloth that wrapped pleasantly around his sore wrist. Unwilling to show any weakness to her, Link quickly wiped his sweaty face and presented her a slightly absent-minded smile of gratitude.

"Henya says she's tired of scheduling meals for your class since you are always late." Zelda's voice turned apologetic, then her smile returned. "It's all cold now, so I thought we could have a picnic or something. I made stew!"

Her offer surprised him; since they were children, Zelda liked to mock him how she was neither his mother nor his wife and therefore wouldn't do his chores, only waking him because he would miss class otherwise. So far, she had never cooked for him.

As welcome as her offer was, Link's first thought oddly turned to how Groose would make him pay for this unique occasion. Blushing at his own insensitivity, Link hastily nodded and scrubbed sweat from the back of his neck more harshly than necessary.

His fingers brushed something cool that lightly pressed against his hot skin just at the base of his skull, a spot he so far hadn't known as a delicate knot of nerves.

"Unfortunately, he will take a little while longer… inattentive student that he is."

Link almost dropped the wet cloth when it dawned on him that Ghirahim stood behind him, smiling just barely and without a hint of contrition. Zelda nodded in understanding, but if this dampened her mood considerably, she didn't let on. Grinning a little, she took the cloth back and blew some of her blonde bangs from her face.

"I'll wait for you at the windmill, then. Do your best!"

To Ghirahim, Zelda seemed to have stopped existing from the second he had finished his sentence. Turning on his heel, he strode over the training ground to where he had placed his fancy red coat – his saber, Link noted with surprise, was nowhere to be seen. In fact, Ghirahim never carried it around, nor did he have a sheath.

Then again, he came and went like a stray cat, jolting the common idyllic view that Skyloft was an island of consistency and sureness.

"Dreaming, Sky Knight?"

Link flinched, finding Ghirahim regarding him with quizzical mockery. Slipping his ruined gloves off, the man beckoned him to come closer, a smile still clinging to the corner of his lips. "Come hither. There's a piece of education you miss, and I happen to have… a gift." The corners of the deep, brown eyes crinkled as well. "Bring your petty sword."

Wary and intrigued in a strange mixture, Link left his shield once more and gripped his sword. He had just washed his face, but he could feel sweat moistening his skin again, and the dull pain in his wrist was forgotten as he approached.

Ghirahim extended his right arm, his skin was still clothed in thin, white silk. Link stopped, caution taking over as he remembered the broad repertoire of unfair techniques that Ghirahim always included in his fights.

"Have no fear. I said it's a gift, didn't I? So take it."

Link heard himself swallow thickly, surprised at how dry his mouth felt. Even without the prying eyes of the other students, his heart galloped, shooting adrenaline into his veins until his head felt light.

"What… do you mean?"

Ghirahim's lips parted for a vibrating, soft chuckle. "My arm. Cut it off."

Link's ears rustled like leaves in a storm. "What?!"

Ghirahim turned his arm slightly, exposing the vulnerable veins of his lower arm and wrist with mild boredom. "Surely, I do not need to point out that taking the weapon arm of an opponent can cause a tremendous change in a battle." He let a little, perfect wave roll through his long fingers. "I happen to be quite skilled with both of my arms, yet the blood loss might compromise me a little. This artery-" He pointed at the vein, guarded by only two small rails of bone, "carries quite a bit of blood, which keeps flowing until I have defeated you and clamped it shut. It wouldn't do to abase my coat by degrading it to a bandage, I'd have to search." Ghirahim tapped his chin, seemingly very thoughtful. "Ah, yes. I'd be a busy boy until everything is properly done, and until then, my heart could decide that it has had enough with all that moving. Depending on how much trouble you give me, probably a few minutes. Did I miss anything?"

Link had listened to the flood of words with growing consternation, his eyes wandering from the offered arm to Ghirahim's face, which betrayed nothing but unconcerned mediativeness. Of course, there were quite a few students who claimed to hate their temporary instructor, and Link was probably the one who had most likely earned the right to be at least a little _averse_ – from all the students, Ghirahim constantly singled him out to show him up, reducing his actually above-the-average ability to dilettantism.

But Link's self-esteem survived with that much better than it would with crippling someone for the mere purpose of so-called _education_.

Obviously, Ghirahim just meant to provoke him; he frequently criticized the inhibitions about practical violence, and unsurprisingly, the Academy regulations were meaningless to him.

"Does my humanoid appearance distract you that much, Sky Child?" There was a suggestive note in Ghirahim's taunting voice that sent a cold prickling sensation down Link's chest. Laughing, the man stretched his fingers, twisting an invisible thread in the air.

"How rude of your to refuse – there will be a time when you aren't gifted with a choice."

"You don't risk enough." Link hadn't expected the small edge of cynicism in his own voice, nor could he tell whether he had meant it. Ghirahim's smile slowly vanished, and his fingers flexed again, this time grasping.

"How keen of you to tell me when it is _enough_… Ah, but I have always favored boldness, even in fools."

For no apparent reason, Ghirahim's stare shifted towards the gate of the training grounds, then lowered his arm to his side. "Perhaps I would have given you my arm, who could tell," he said in a succinct voice. "You lack so much education, and so much time."

Link lowered his sword as well, his patience thinning as he wondered why he had been prompted to stay at all.

"Can I leave?" Sounding neutral was the most he could do about being polite. It was suspicious that there was so far no sign of Ghirahim's almost famous bursts of temperament, and Link wasn't eager to wait for one.

Surprisingly, no flicker of anger showed even now as Ghirahim tut-tutted, shaking his head in reproach. "Still as inattentive, little Sky Knight." The blue diamond shone and twinkled as Ghirahim tilted his head. "You time is almost up."

Feeling uneasiness well up, Link searched for a possible explanation. It didn't help any that they were alone on the training ground, the sky already coloring lavender and orange above them. Surely, Ghirahim couldn't make him stay all night? Would he abuse his skill to trounce Link for his remark? These were uncomfortable, however, Link was unhesitant to stand his ground. He would even under no circumstances bow to someone with no sense of fairness or respect for others, no matter if his own mastery was inferior to Ghirahim's.

Squaring his shoulders to compensate the height difference between them a little, Link grimly returned Ghirahim's gaze – only to find him smiling at him with a slightly patronizing undertone.

"Leave that bread knife, little tiger, you won't need it." He twirled his long fingers, mockingly presenting that he himself was unarmed as well. Feeling a little silly and still mistrustful, Link drove the practice sword into the dusty earth and straightened, his fists clenching at his sides.

Ghirahim's pale mouth curved like a bow being drawn. "Excellent. Now close your eyes… Since appearances are of such importance to you, I wouldn't want you to get distracted again."

Everything in Link bristled against the suggestion of making himself vulnerable, turning off the sense that was most important to him in the company of a man he trusted so little. He found that he couldn't do it, not even when he tried. And he wasn't trying hard for the sake of Ghirahim's strange teaching.

Ghirahim's eyes narrowed in a calm, cat-like way. "Never fear," he repeated placidly. "You will find that… agitation makes your remaining senses take over quite quickly, opening your horizon of perception to a finer level. As long as you hear my voice, you'll know that I am here, and you won't… relax." The last word had an odd emphasis to it, as if Ghirahim was well aware how he put Link on the alert when he was around him.

Still uncomfortable, Link closed his eyes. The commendatory, soft laugh made his spine tingle, and the smell of earth and metal suddenly grew. He could feel where his tunic was sticky with sweat, and his skin was tickled by a breeze that he hadn't noticed so far. His senses reacted with an intensity that he couldn't expect after such a short time, and Link had to admire the sheer mass. His ears picked up distant cries of the Loftwings, the rustling of leaves and the creaking of a door somewhere in the training hall. He could even feel the light rocking of his hair in the wind, and the point where Ghirahim had touched his neck.

"It's amazing."

Even though his body clearly acted like this because it was on red alert around Ghirahim, Link couldn't help but admit that it was stunning.

Ghirahim chuckled quietly, elusively. "Warrior instinct. Few possess it… And even fewer in a place like this, Sky Child."

There was a distant note in the air that Link strained to take in; the almost inaudible hiss of fabric and something that smelled like resin and ashes. Like Ghirahim, perhaps. There was the warmth of the evening sun and the taste of salt and sweat in his mouth, dull remains of pain in his wrist and the gentle gust of his own breath…

Link felt as if his knees would buckle as something touched his lips, warm and dry and soft as satin. His tactile nerves trembled as he shivered delicately, at first not understanding what had happened, but too caught up in the feeling to care. After days of practice and schooling, his body felt like it deserved this, and as smooth fingers brushed his cheekbones and the tips of his ears, Link dove into the melting sensation, sighing in delight.

His eyes shot open when he realized Ghirahim had kissed him.

Cunning brown eyes laughed at him, dark and almost sensual now, as Ghirahim pinned Links wrists against his hipbones. "I did tell you," he murmured, warm breath crystallizing on Link's moist lips, "that education is passed on… It doesn't restrict to fighting." He hummed softly, then, as Link tensed, pressed a feathery, lingering kiss to his brow. Link thought he felt the tiny flicker of the tip of his tongue, and his nerves once again vibrated, screaming alarm and awe at once until it almost deafened him.

Ghirahim smirked, letting go of Link's hands and taking an elegant step back. His dark-red tongue swept unhurriedly over his own lips, brown eyes still murky and heated. "The red string of education – she will expect it soon, I presume."

Link's head was in a daze, not allowing him to grasp what Ghirahim meant right now. His senses were slowly returning to normal, but his heart wouldn't calm, and for some reason, he felt imprecisely guilty. Yet neither tired nor hungry anymore.

He was supposed to meet Zelda as soon as he could. Link was dully surprised to see his fingers quivering slightly as he reached for the practice sword. His hand closed around the hilt, but the sensations weren't strong anymore, as if his nerves were drunk on something else. If he hadn't remembered what he had to do, he might have stood.

"Seek my education whenever you proceed, Sky Child – I might bide my time."

He heard Ghirahim's rippling laughter, and for some reason, Link turned around, depending on his eyes with a somewhat insecure questioning.

The man was gone.


End file.
